Heather Jones' Silver Locket
| Heather Jones' Silver Locket | |
|---|---|
| Players |
Arnaud hires Tennyson to find some people. |
+-----------------------+ Private Party Room - Fireside Pizza Co +-----------------------+ The backroom is listed as a party room, but it's never open to the general public - kept locked to all but those in the know, with a guard stationed at the door to ensure that interlopers are kept out. It's cozy, like the main area - rock walls, heavy wooden tables that are time worn, and folks in the know act as servers to take orders for refreshments of both mundane and supernatural. Pizza and beer, blood, raw meat and the like are supplied for those with special dietary needs. The space is definitely not a formal one, but one meant for casual meetings or just to relax and have some food away from the eyes of the normal folk.
It's not long before Tennyson shows up, taking his time with walking as he must with the cane and all. As he lays eyes upon Arnaud he gives a simple nod and a brief apology. "Sorry I'm a little behind. I don't own a car, you see. It's buses and L-Trains for me." He takes a seat across from the other man, settling himself with a mouth tightening a little before he sits back, gets settled, and asks with an attentive attitude, "So. What's the situation?" Arnaud sits up straight to study Tennyson as he arrives, swallowing some pizza down with beer and wiping his lips on the back of his hand. His expression shows very little in terms of emotions, but his eyes are burning with razor-sharp focus right now. "It's fine, I was early. Grab some pizza and beer," he says and nods invitingly at the food. As Tennyson gets right down to business, Arnaud pulls out a silver locket from under his shirt, hanging on a leather cord. He gently pulls it over his head and lays it on the table. "I promised a woman named Heather Jones that I would find her family here in Chicago. She gave me this silver locket." He opens it carefully. Inside is a small piece of velvet cloth, and wrapped inside that is a small lock of fine, blonde hair, most likely from a baby. "That is all I know. I don't know what time she lived here in Chicago - it could be a hundred years ago, or five years ago. I can't even tell what she looked like." The offer of free food and drink is always a welcome start! Tennyson listens quietly and does indeed begin to help himself to pizza up until Arnaud gets to the locket. Then he thinks better of it and hesitates. He begins to focus intently upon what's before him, rubbing his chin and frowning with eyes on the locket. "Is she paying you as a client or is this a favor to her?" he asks, eyes flicking up to Arnaud. "Is there some geas involved in the arrangement?" "Geas?" Arnaud asks, as if he isn't sure what that even means. "She's dead, she can't pay me," he continues. He eats more pizza, staring at Tennyson with eyes that are eerily alert, but strangely dead none-the-less. Emotionless, cold. "I'll pay you in cash if you take it on, if that's acceptable." "Perfectly. I know most of the Accorded trade in coins but I'm not a rich man and those coins don't pay the rent." Tennyson is agreeable at least! He reaches for the locket with a questioning look to Arnaud, meaning to slide it closer for a better look. He avoids touching the bit of hair for now. "So you promised this Heather Jones, who is now dead, that you would find her family. Is she a ghost or was the promise made before her passing?" +--------------------------+ Tennyson rolls 2 Dice +---------------------------+ Roll: Wits +Crafts -2 Result: Success (2) -- (8 9) +-------------------------------------------------------- success (public) ----+ Arnaud chews slowly and leans back. "She told me so right before she died and gave me the locket. She wasn't a ghost, but she wasn't human either." He tears a chunk of pizza and chews thoroughly, nodding his consent for Tennyson to examine the locket. It seems to be made of silver, there's a flower design of a rose etched on it, and a there IS a stamp, but it's been half-worn off by age as well. The inside is in better shape, but also unadorned. Still, by pure chance, circumstance and skill, Tennyson has a fair idea about this because he's actually once seen another one of these lockets somehwere else: it belonged to a client who wanted his help with a ghost issue, and this lady also had one of these lockets that she kept some baby hair from her son in. This was five years ago, the son was aged 16 at the time and this lady had bought the locket when he was a baby to keep his hair in. Hence, it's reasonable to believe these lockets were made around twenty-twentyfive years ago, and likely somewhere in Chicago, or at least sold IN Chicago somewhere. Well then. Tennyson raises his eyebrows as he recognizes the make and provenance of the locket, saying foremost, "I think I can be of help to you." Then he finally takes a piece of pizza and has a bite. Might as well! "So...what family do I need to find? Immediate family only? Children? Heirs? All possible relations as far as the family tree can be reckoned?" Arnaud takes the locket back. It's clearly not an item he wishes to part with, and it goes back to around his neck for now. "Great," he says and he looks nominally more happy and less dead-eyed. "Closest ones. If that lock of hair is from her child, that would be the best, but it might be from a niece or nephew or even a sibling." He squeezes the locket once before he hides it under his shirt again, something flashing in his gaze, a spark of excitement. He then pulls out a roll of cash and slides it over. "An advance. Even if you find nothing, keep this for the effort." "Wait, let me have a photo of that." Tennyson puts down his pizza slice and fumbles out an older smartphone, getting the camera app working. He means to get pictures of each side and then the thing opened, and to frame the contents for photographs as well. He's slow to go for the cash, and instead of snatching it up he takes a napkin and covers the wad so it isn't sitting there visibly attracting attention. It's certainly no refusal, but he seems to be following some kind of protocol. "Do you more information? Did Heather Jones have a middle name? Was she married? To whom? Anything you can tell me. I am a magician but the less weight I have to make the magic carry the better." Arnaud lets him take those pictures, nodding his understanding. "You can examine it again if you need, but I won't part with it," he explains, and hides it away again. He glances at how he hides the cash, but makes no comment. At the questions, he shakes his head and grimaces. "Circumstances were not the best, nor did she look like she would have if she was still human. She didn't have time to tell me much before she died, except for her name, and where to find her family - in Chicago. And she gave me the locket when saying that, so it is connected for sure. I can also say she didn't LOOK old, but time... is strange for some people. " He leans closer and lower his voice. They might be in a safe space to talk about this but that doesn't mean he assumes this magician wants to let everyone hear. "What is it you can do, magic wise?" +--------------------------+ Tennyson rolls 5 Dice +---------------------------+ Roll: Intelligence +Wits Result: Success (2) -- (5 1 9 5 8) +-------------------------------------------------------- success (public) ----+ "What's yours is yours. I could certainly use it to complete the job but it's not crucial." Which is to say Tennyson has no pressing need to have the locket. He listens again, paying close attention to the things Arnaud says, and reveals, "So it's a Changeling thing then. She was taken?" He leaves more unsaid, but it's clear he Knows some things. "Generally my talents are with the mind. I can look into the minds of others, send my thoughts, even manipulate thoughts if I must. I can actually do quite a lot more but those are my strong talents. This particular job needs a psychometrist or clairvoyant. I could do that but I know someone more talented that I'll probably consult." A momentary silence, and he adds, "Now don't take this next question wrong, but do you have any piece of Heather? A literal piece, I mean." Arnaud's reaction is not that pronounced. He just raises an eyebrow, as if surprised he is learned like that, but not worried that Tennyson DOES know. "Yes," he replies and washes down some more pizza. He's somehow eaten a whole one in this short time, but without being messy about it at all. "Read minds. Psychometrist, clairvoyant." He casually adds; "Don't do that on me." It's a warning. However, when he asks about 'a literal piece' of Heather, he freezes with a slize of pizza mid-air, cocking his head. "I had a piece of Heather, once. But it didn't last long. However, what about the hair in the locket?" "I would only do that at great need. It's magic, Mister Arnaud. Not to be done lightly, but respected. You don't do your fae magic upon just anyone, I hope." Which is his way of saying that to him, it's the same thing. He even adds a nod of agreement for the words. Tennyson seems to be going for a professional mood here more than anything. "Is the hair her hair?" "No, I don't," Arnaud says and smiles wryly. "Not just on anyone." He pours beer in a glass from a bottle, and drinks thirstily, studying Tennyson over the glass as he does. "Probably not her hair, but if it belongs to a family member, wouldn't that still be useful in finding her family?" He makes a vague gesture; he admits he doesn't know how any of that sort of magic really works. "There is another variable with the locket though. It's been in Arcadia for an extensive period. Means that if using your magic on it, the results might be all fucked up." "Oh they certainly might. For all we know it's not even the original locket anymore. It could be a perfect copy, or it could be a dried bat-turd turned into a locket. The hair though..." It's a strong point. If it's Heather's daughter or something it's still useful. "Do you mind letting me have it? I will try not to use it up completely and even give it back to you if I can, but there might be a reason to consume it." Arnaud's dark frown is answer enough. "I can not let you have the locket." Despite the ice-cold initial and capricious reply, he changes his mind just as quickly. "You could have some of the hair though." Without waiting, he removes the locket again and opens it, fidgeting with it more than seems reasonable (because he has claws and claws can be a fucking pain sometimes when handling small objects). "If you believe you need the locket itself..." He stares dully into the table and is quiet for a too long and uncomfortable moment, before he abruptly slaps his own cheek, looking back up. "No. I can't give the locket. I need it." Tennyson is quick to hold up a hand and wave off the locket itself. "No, the hair is more useful. Keep your locket. It'll be fine." Somehow he finds himself using a more gentle tone than he's wont to. Most times Tennyson comes off a little brusque, but something about this situation has him glancing around in case anyone witnesses him showing even a hint of compassion. It's like he can sense that it's deeply important to the man. "Mister Arnaud, unless someone's life is in danger or you're on a time restriction, you don't need to consider it urgent. If this is just about fulfilling a promise then I can make this happen with just information alone. A few strands of hair will be more than enough to make it easy, I think. Should be, if they're the right hair." Arnaud relaxes. He takes half of the fine blonde hairs from the locket and finds a piece of plastic wrapper in a pocket (it's from a lolipop), wrapping it up in that before he hands it over. "It's not urgent, I just don't like waiting around for things to happen. It's why I contacted you. I don't have the skills to look for her. I promised her I'd find them - and to look after them." Everyone wants a psychopath watching over them, right? The warlock nods in understanding, accepting the wrapped hairs with only a second spent wondering why a lolipop wrapper. It doesn't seem to matter to him. He puts it next to the concealed wad of cash then. "That was the last thing I meant to ask you: Why. And now I know. And now I fully accept." He places a hand over the cash and declares, "I will do everything I can to find them and then I will disclose to you what I learn. If it takes days or years, I will not give up until I know the job is done or there is no hope of doing it. That is our pact." <spend> Arnaud spends 1 (-1 points) of his Glamour pool, for Sealing a promise. Arnaud does not actually Seal promises that often, mostly because he's such a dick that talking to people ends up more often with them cursing him and hating him forever. So, when someone literally makes an oath like that, he does it out of Changeling instinct. He leans closer over the table and smiles a slow and wide smile that is not the least pleasant, and very FAe in scope. "I accept the pact." His eyes glitter and for a second, there's a glimpse of his true nature, irises flickering red and yellow, slitted pupil. But, maybe it's just the light in here? When he leans back, he looks absolutely normal. "You can reach me on that phone number I called from. My full name is Arnaud Lyon, but - you won't find any records of me. Just how things turned out." Perhaps the greatest reference that Tennyson is a legitimate warlock is that he doesn't flinch from the glimpse of Arnaud's true self. He meets the gaze without surprise and gives a simple nod. Then a wry grin. "And I'm Tennyson Reed, but you knew that. Would you rather I call you Mister Lyon or just Arnaud or what?" As he says this he finally takes the cash and the bit of hair off the table and pockets it all. "Arnaud. Arn. Not Arnie though. I may react violently," Arnaud replies with dark humor, standing up as both his meal and the business is over with. However, he snaps his fingers and remembers something. "You need help with a job - check with me. I'm good with certain kinds of jobs, the kinds that require breaking and entering or beating someone up." "Arnaud then. I like to keep it a little professional at least." So he'll lay off the nicknames, will Tennyson. He too rises, though it's a slower motion for him as he needs the cane carved with all those elaborate runes and sigils to get up comfortably. "You know, people say I'll remember that like a throwaway line, just something to say, but I really will remember that. Because I really do sometimes need that kind of help. It's been a pleasure speaking with you, Arnaud." Arnaud clearly doesn't believe in pretty-fying his line of business, just outright saying what it is he does. He bows his head to Tennyson in a respectful, corteous gesture, appreciating the business-like manner. "Nice doing business," he replies, and then he stalks out of the place. | |